


Winter's Cloudless Nights

by Astro_Break



Series: Seasons of a Lovestruck Fool [2]
Category: Saint Seiya
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood Drinking, Date Night, M/M, Minor Character Death, Supernatural Elements, Vampire Milo, Vampires, Witch Camus, Witch Hunters, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22177240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astro_Break/pseuds/Astro_Break
Summary: Winter is coming and the cold winds brings trouble.
Relationships: Aquarius Camus/Scorpio Milo
Series: Seasons of a Lovestruck Fool [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1538368
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Winter's Cloudless Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Miloshipfest, but I didn't finish it until now lmao
> 
> This.... Isn't the best work I've done. When I found the manuscript sitting in my folders, I felt like it was only right to at least finish it off and post it as my past self had invested a lot of time and research into this. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not a practicing witch. I am only armed with research and I probably got some aspects of magic wrong. If any practicing witches/wiccans would like to educate me on how magic actually works, please by all means comment and teach me.
> 
> Prompts: Vampires, Magic, Date, Surprise  
> Inspired by [this](https://shittyromcom.tumblr.com/post/165417944484/autumn-inspired-prompts) OTP scenario
> 
> Happy Reading  
> -Astro

Camus hated witch hunters with a passion

And before anyone asks, it's not solely because he was a witch. It was because those hunters were damn annoying and persistent. Once they believed to have found a witch, they'd hunt them down mercilessly regardless of whether or not the person in question was actually a practitioner of magic.

Locking up his small shop, Camus sighed and rested his forehead on the ash wood door, messenger bag thumping against his side. They were entering the season where Camus would be accused of witchcraft the most. Not because of actual evidence of him practicing magic. Nor with strange occurrences during this season that could be feasibly be linked back to him. No. The reason was frankly stupid and ridiculous.

Just because he wore short sleeves during the winter months, did not mean that he practiced witchcraft.

Making his way through the winding streets, Camus took his time walking to the edge of town. He had faith that his apprentices could handle watching over the house and taking care of themselves. His boyfriend on the other hand… Already feeling a tension headache coming on just from merely thinking about Milo, Camus sighed again watching his disgruntlement manifest in a puff of warm air. He might need to pick up the pace and return home earlier than he would have liked, just to prevent the bumbling fool of his boyfriend from setting his abode up in flames.

Entering the heavily forested area that marked off the edge of town, Camus ducked under a low hanging branch and took a lesser traveled path, clutching his bag close to his side. Supply gathering was on his list today as a client had come by asking for remedial and romantic spells. Camus rarely dabbled in the more emotionally manipulative aspects of magic and had turned down the romantic request but took on the medicinal spell willingly. Perhaps using Oolong Tea as a catalyst would do, Camus ruminated, as it contained both romantic and healing properties. Serving it in vessels made from applewood seemed ideal. With a clearer vision in mind, Camus breathed in the nippy winter air, exhaled, and kept walking this time heading towards a small groove that he personality cultivated.

The faint sound of another set of footsteps didn't alarm Camus. Rather, it made him sigh again. Witch hunters never ceased to annoy him with their persistence. The bare boughs of the forest provided little cover for anyone and the tight and narrow path would make Camus stumble on occasion. This hunter was either extremely brave or extremely stupid. Unperturbed by the unwanted stalker, Camus continued on, slipping through the leaf-bare foliage while expertly avoiding snaking roots, listening with amusement as the hunter fumbled and flailed through the difficult terrain. A particularly colorful curse made Camus shake with silent laughter, knowing all too well the traps hidden in the forest. Dropping to his knees, Camus crawled under a tangle of roots to arrive in the small garden he personality cultivated.

Small would be an understatement as the clearing itself was large enough to build a sizable house in. However, what made it small were the garden patches simply dotting the landscape, taking up as little space as possible. Most of the vegetation he grew during the year had withered under the cold winter chill but spell components weren't what he came to the clearing for. Enclosing the garden from the rest of the forest was a multitude of trees, each towering giant different from the next. Birch, Ash, Buckeye, a whole host of species thriving in the same space. To anyone knowledgeable enough, they would tell you that most of the trees in the glade shouldn't be able to flourish in the conditions it was growing under. But for Camus, making a pine tree prosper under the oppressive Grekian heat was like a walk in the park. Of course, Magic played a part in the ease Camus was able to grow these trees, but one’s hard work should never be overlooked. Camus had spent years learning the optimal temperatures that these trees grew in, setting up wards and magic seals around the land to facilitate the growth. The fruits of his labor were more than worth the effort as groves upon groves of foreign trees stretched before him.

Walking up to the apple tree, Camus gently touched the bark. Silently asking the tree for some of its wood to use, the witch smiled faintly at the enthusiastic consent given to him. He knew that the trees around the grove would never deny his requests and couldn't stop him even if they refused, but he firmly believed that each living organism was as alive as himself and thus Camus needed to hear explicit consent before he did anything. His amicable mood was promptly washed away by annoyance when a mysterious liquid was unceremoniously dumped over his head. A lucky hand over his bag prevented any of its contents from getting wet but the rest of Camus's body wasn't spared. Spitting to rid his tongue of the awful taste, Camus ducked blindly and stepped backward, crashing into someone as he had anticipated.

"Really, could you not greet someone normally?" Camus sighed, turning around and shaking off droplets of the mystery concoction. Before him stood the witch hunter Camus had seen tailing him, hair a mess of leaves and twigs as he held an unlit match in one hand and a goatskin flask in the other. Putting two and two together, Camus raised an eyebrow. "Gasoline? Can't you guys think up of something more innovative?"

The hunter sputtered and Camus shook his head. "If you're going to try and set me on fire, the forest is the worst place you could do it. The trees are perfect for kindle this time of year so you'd be causing your clients more trouble by starting a forest fire."

"Some trees are nothing compared to the scores of people you've killed, witch!" The hunter yelled in retaliation, face flushed with embarrassment. Or it might be the fact that it was currently winter and by normal Greek standards, it was freezing cold.

Rubbing his temples, fingers slipping due to the viscous liquid, Camus gave the hunter the most unimpressed look he could currently muster. "I don't even kill people." He grumbled, knowing his facts would fall on deaf ears.

"Silence! How would you explain the missing hunters before me?! But no more!" The man before Camus ranted, hands raised dramatically as he lit the match. "This is the end for you!"

Dragging his hands down his face, Camus groaned loudly. "I never killed anyone." He reiterated firmly. "But I don't particularly mind seeing people like you die by his hands."

Before the hunter could voice his confusion, a blur of yellow so stark against the cold grey pallet of the environment around them, crashed into the hunter, both sent tumbling a ways off. Firmly grasping the hunter's wrists while knees dug against thighs, a beastly figure loomed over the frightened hunter with a leer before those same sharp incisors sunk into soft flesh. Camus watched idly by, disinterested by the fading screams and thrashing limbs held fast by a stronger being.

"Milo, don't get blood on your jacket." He finally spoke, long after the struggle had left the hunter's body. The creature pinning his meal down sat up, twisting around to face the stoic witch. A bloodstained mouth twisted into a cocky grin, showing off teeth meant to rip apart flesh, as the vampire lazily checked his leather jacket for any bloodstains.

"I surprise you and that's what you say to me?" Milo complained once he was finished. "Sometimes I think you're my mom instead of my boyfriend." Camus sighed at the routine banter and walked over, dropping to his knees beside the corpse. Taking out a cotton handkerchief, he began to clean up the blood smeared over the vampire's face as Milo made obligatory but half-hearted attempts to squirm away from the treatment. Honestly, how does one manage to get blood inside their ear?

Once Camus was done, Milo immediately pounced and flung his arms around Camus's neck. A long and drawn out kiss followed before Milo theatrically pulled back, making a face. "Camus! What did the asshole pour over you?! You taste disgusting!" He whined, giving the thoroughly dead corpse the stink eye.

"Gasoline," Camus replied with a fond roll of his eyes. "Like always."

Predictably, Milo seemed disgruntled at the information. "Well, now they're not even trying to be innovative." He grumbled to which Camus had to agree with. There could only be so many times someone would be willing to wash gasoline stained clothes before it becomes tedious.

"A small price to pay to keep you fed." Camus shrugged, heart-swelling at the adoration radiating off Milo, his own face betraying none of his current emotions. Turning his attention to the corpse, Camus grasped the dead hunter's wrist and watched as frost crawled over the still-warm flesh. The winter season would keep the body preserved until spring when the snow melted and life showed itself behind fertile dirt. The body would return whence it came, doing more service to the world in death than in life.

Getting to his feet, Camus patted the clumped dirt off his pants and walked back over to the apple tree. Shimmying up the trunk, the witch found a suitable branch to take. It was old and nearing the end of its life but the wood was still firm enough to carve into. Taking a mini saw out from his messenger bag and straddling his chosen branch, Camus set to work extracting the spell component. A wolf whistle made the tips of his ears heat up as he glared down the tree. Milo grinned roguishly back, face partially obscured by the thicker branches. Embarrassment coloring his face, Camus turned back to his task and valiantly tried to not think about how Milo was definitely staring at his ass.

A thump signaled the completion of his task as the large tree branch fell to the barren ground. Letting out a breath, Camus placed the saw back where it belonged and leaned over the stump gently touching the exposed inner workings of the tree. The time for regrowth wouldn't come for another month or so, but Camus didn't feel any guilt in giving the particular section a head start. The gasoline still clinging to his body made climbing down the tree a challenge but several close calls later, Camus had both feet planted firmly on the dirt. Milo was waiting for him, smiling brightly as he supported the heavy wood with one arm. Normally, Camus would have snatched the log back but as Milo kindly put it, wood lifting wasn't a task suited for his magicky stick arms.

Instead, Camus graced Milo with a brief kiss before heading towards a gap in the trees. Allowing himself a secret smile, Camus didn't have to wait long before footsteps pounded after him and a warm hand entangled itself with his own.


End file.
